The Apartment Down The Hall
by Candace Waters
Summary: Roses continue to appear on Gary's doorstop. Is he right about his suspicion, or is it the cat who's bringing them? First posted: January 2001


Disclaimer: Early Edition, its characters   
and some situations are the property of CBS   
Productions and Sony/Tristar.  
  
Possible Spoiler: Phantom At The Opera  
Authors note: A newbie challenge  
  
The Apartment Down the Hall   
by Candii  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
The elevator dinged opened, and Gary   
stepped out into the   
quiet entry hall leading to his apartment   
at the Blackstone   
Hotel. It had rained profusely that day,   
leaving him soaked,   
cold and tired.  
  
"Home," he sighed wearily,  
brushing the water  
from his coat. As he proceeded towards   
his apartment his   
attention was drawn to the door of one of   
the neighboring   
apartments, closing softly. Boswell, the doorman  
had mentioned a new tenant had moved into   
the vacant apartment down the hall.   
But Gary hadn't seen any new tenant,   
reasoning they   
were probably still asleep when he rushed   
out of his apartment   
in the early morning, or they were in for   
the night when he   
returned, which was sometimes late at   
night.   
  
Sighing heavily, he dug deep into the pockets  
of his rain-soaked jeans for his door key.  
After having prevented a Violinist from being  
clobbered over the  
head with his own *violin during a robbery  
attempt, and the assault  
of a dancer across town at the   
Pink *Flamingo strip club, which resulted in  
him being splashed   
in the face with a martini, he was sore and   
reaked of alcohol. Right now, a hot shower   
and a warm bed were the only thoughts he   
would allow to consume his mind. Yet, the   
closing door to the apartment down the hall  
had piqued his curiosity.   
  
His pace slowed as he neared his   
apartment. Through the dim lighting of   
the hall, he   
could see it clearly, the little petals   
gleaming softly on his doorstop. This was  
the third time in a week he had found  
a rose on his doorstop, and each time   
it had been one of a different color. The first  
rose was a light   
pink in color and the second one had been   
the color of coral and now this one....white.   
He had told Chuck and Marisa about the   
roses,  
thinking they were the ones who had   
been secretly putting them there.   
Being the kind and caring friends that  
they were, maybe,he   
thought, just maybe it was their way of   
thanking   
him for the work he did with the paper.  
But they had denied being responsible.   
Marisa had teased him, suggesting it   
was probably the cat who had brought the  
roses. Chuck had even scoffed at him,   
telling him he should  
be flattered and he should, as Chuck so   
eloquently put it, count his lucky *jellybean  
he even had a secret admirer. But Gary felt   
a bit uneasyreceiving anonymous gifts of any  
kind, no matter how flattering it might have   
seemed.   
  
Gary was hesitant as he bent down to   
pick up the rose,   
pausing to wipe a trickle of water from the  
back  
of his neck. Suspiciously he examined  
the delicate looking flower, rolling the stem  
gently between his thumb and indexfinger,  
its soft fragrance filling the air around him.  
It was odd enough, he thought, to  
receive a paper and a cat everyday from   
some unknown source, but now, roses?  
The stillness of the hall was suddenly disturbed  
by the distant sound of music. Gary listened  
intently. Although faint, he could tell the music  
was coming from the apartment down the hall.  
It was a familiar song, one which he   
felt he had heard once before. A chill swept across  
the back of his neck and he rose quickly fumbling  
for his door key. He opened the door and  
let himself in locking the door behind him.  
  
~~~~~~~~~ * ~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
"I-I found another one, Marisa." Gary complained   
into the phone. He had called Marisa after he had  
showered, and was now stretched out on his bed  
clad in a pair of warm sweats and soft cotton socks.  
The rose he had placed on his nightstand. He   
hadn't bothered to put it in water now, it's once   
supple-white petals were beginning to wither and  
turn brown.   
  
"Well, maybe it is a secret admirer, Gary."   
Marisa yawned, her voice sounding soft and sleepy.  
"Obviously she's afraid to come forward"   
  
"Secret admirer?!" Gary scoffed, "What secret adm...I-I   
don't know any secret admirer!"   
  
"That's why they're called secret admirers  
Gary." Marisa informed him.  
  
Sliding a hand through his hair, Gary blew out  
a tired breath. "Oh-th-thats right."   
  
It was late, he was cranky and Gary knew   
he really shouldn't have bothered Marisa at such  
a late hour, but he couldn't get the rose off   
his mind. He couldn't help but feel someone was  
watching him. Someone or....some "Thing".  
  
"Maybe, I'm making a big deal out of nothing."  
He said rubbing his face, trying to dismiss  
his last thought.   
  
"Yeah..maybe." Marisa agreed, yawning again.  
  
Gary was silent as he thought about the apartment  
down the hall, the closing door, the new tenant whom  
he had never seen, and now the music he heard   
coming from that apartment.  
  
"Marisa? Y-You remember Emma...don't you?"   
he asked after a short pause.   
  
"Course I do...why?"   
  
"Well...you remember the play at the opera, the  
one I took Emma to see?"   
  
Marisa knew how hard it was for Gary to   
talk about that night at the opera and the   
decision he chose to make. He had never  
discussed it with her and she had never   
prompted him, feeling in due time, he would.   
  
"Turandot wasn't it?" she asked trying to  
continue the conversation.  
  
"Yeah, well th-that song," Gary said. "Nissune.  
doorknob....er..or something....a-anyway, someone  
was playing that same song tonight! And it was  
coming from that apartment!"   
  
"Well, yeah, I remember you telling me   
about it. " Marisa said. "The song was   
called...Nessun Dorma... song by   
Placido Domingo. Ohh-!" she gushed. "Such  
a beautiful piece! So-you think that maybe Em--"  
  
"Forget it." Gary said quickly dismissing   
the subject. He rubbed his eyes, thinking   
how silly it was he would even think Emma  
would be here, in Chicago, and right here   
in the Black Stone. He must   
have been more tired than he thought and   
now felt foolish for bringing up the subject.  
  
"It was a silly thought." he muttered,   
his dark lashes fluttering sleepily.   
  
"Well...anything's possible Gary." Marisa sighed,   
at a loss for an answer.  
  
For a moment, there was silence, neither saying  
a word as Marisa waited patiently for her friend  
to either reply to her comment, or to bid her goodnight.  
A few minutes later, she received the latter,   
and it came in the form of a deep, rhythmic,   
reverberating sound.   
  
"Gary?"   
  
Silence.  
  
"Gary," she called again.  
  
Receiving no response, Marisa soon realized   
her late night caller had fallen asleep.   
  
"Humph!" she huffed. Now wide awake, she  
drummed her fingers irritably on her blanket. She  
was definitely going to tell him off in the morning!   
Smiling, she hung up the receiver.   
......................................................   
  
Outside of the hotel, dark storm clouds   
gathered, bursting over already rain-drenched   
Chicago. Inside, on floor beside Gary's   
bed, lay the paper. The headline that had   
been, faded slowly and another appeared   
just as subtle in it's place.   
  
Widow Emma Shaw-Sanchez Well Known Art   
Conservationist Leaves Chicago Today   
..................................................   
  
In the hallway, outside of Gary's door, a woman   
stood. Small in stature and warmly dressed,   
the hood of her long dark raincoat covered   
most of her head. Beneath the hood, red  
bangs framed an attractive yet saddened face.   
In one hand she clutched a small suitcase and  
*umbrella; in the other, a long stemmed red   
rose. She looked upset, as she studied the   
door, her small gloved fist poised to knock.   
Her eyes fell to the rose she held in the   
other hand. Lowering her fist, she bent down  
and carefully placed the rose on the floor in front  
of the door. Straightening, she adjusted the   
hood of her coat, then walked briskly towards   
the elevator. In the dim lighting of the hallway,  
the woman's cheeks glistened as she waited   
impatiently for the elevator to arrive, her gloved  
hand nervously massaging the handle of the   
suitcase that she clutched. The elevator door   
opened. She quickly stepped inside. With  
quivering lips, she turned to look back as the  
elevator door closed slowly in front of her.   
  
The End 


End file.
